


far from any road

by emiparade



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Slow Burn, spoilers up to FFH, what if peter never found out beck is evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 11:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20007670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiparade/pseuds/emiparade
Summary: In another possible reality, Beck didn’t get away with it.But that was only a possible reality, with a happier ending.Here though, where it mattered because this was the reality Peter was living in, Beck got away with it.





	far from any road

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I am really rusty at writing because I hardly ever do it, but FFH and this ship have taken over my entire life and I wanted to write something for them.
> 
> I have some pretty involved ideas about where this will go, but I'm very slow so just wanted to throw that out there.
> 
> Also, Beck is not a good guy at all in this and please be aware of the underage tag!!

In another possible reality, Beck didn’t get away with it.

In another possible reality, the flight programming for the drones glitched, didn’t automatically correct the trajectory to dodge the synthetic webbing, and the projector ripped from the drone in that moment would be the entire key to discovering Beck’s true nature.

But that was only a possible reality, with a happier ending.

Here though, where it mattered because _this was the reality Peter was living in_ , Beck got away with it.

There was no projector torn away, no evidence left behind for MJ to gather up and unknowingly tug the first string that would begin the unraveling the web of Beck's lies.

Peter still sat with Beck in a humble-seeming bar in Prague, still handed over EDITH with hardly a backwards glance, still told MJ he wasn’t ready for this vacation to be over outside her door, still stood on a bridge facing her under the cover of night, fingers clutching tight around a small tin.

This was it, the plan he had been working towards this whole trip even though it had gone awry at almost every step. It wasn’t the Eiffel Tower, but it was all he had left at this point. Besides, apparently people were executed on this bridge so that seemed close enough to the whole ‘Eiffel Tower being used to create a mind-control army’ thing she liked, maybe. He steeled himself with one last shaky breath, and he was ready as he was ever going to be. “MJ, I’m--”

“Spider-Man?”

And that was it, the plan was dashed against the rocks of futility. He denied it, she pressed him, he denied it even more vehemently, and there was no evidence MJ could pull from her backpack, no projector that would suddenly lift the wool from his eyes and necessitate telling her the truth of his identity.

Instead, it went, well, bad. She was upset, he could tell that at least even if he couldn’t quite figure if she was upset that he wasn’t Spider-Man or upset that he was Spider-Man and lying to her. Either way, she breezed past him with an unenthused good night, and he was left alone with nothing but the fact she had been watching him only out of suspicion echoing hopelessly through his head. He felt like an idiot to ever think she could be looking at him the same way he looked at her.

He held his head in his hands, elbows propped on the side of the bridge and the threat of tears stinging in his eyes. At least, if nothing else, he had stopped the threat of the elementals with Beck. At the very least, he has that, even if he had messed everything else up on this trip.

-

Elsewhere, Beck and his team were rehearsing the Avengers-level event he demanded without a hitch, without any revelations over a missing projector, and without any threat of Peter's blood on William's hands.

-

The next day, Peter and his whole school trip flew out from the Prague airport without any reroute to London. It wasn't until they landed and phones came out, even though they hadn't been cleared to taken their electronics out of airplane mode yet, that they all found out about what had transpired while they were suspended over the Atlantic: the largest elemental yet, Mysterio barely emerging victorious, the death toll.

Peter was thankful that Ned didn't ask any questions, just placed his hand on his back, as he doubled over to quell the nausea suddenly rising in his stomach.

"It's just his perfume allergy," he distantly heard Ned explaining to a worried Mr. Harrison.

He gave away his responsibilities as Spider-Man practically gift-wrapped to chase after the girl he liked on his school trip, and here he was--MJ not speaking to him, the trip cancelled prematurely, and people dead that he could have maybe _saved_ if he just hadn't been selfish, just for a single day.

"I should have stayed--- I should have stayed."

Ned waited with him, until all the other passengers had departed, until after Peter's hitching breath had calmed and the in flight food stopped rolling angrily in his stomach.

Aunt May, despite him managing to hide his alter ego from her for what he had thought an uncharacteristically long time, always had a good sense for how he was feeling, and she didn't ask anything of him either as he practically collapsed into her waiting embrace, clinging to her shoulders even when he would've normally been embarrassed at such a show of affection in front of his classmates.

Somehow, all that high school stuff--trying to impress girls, putting up with the smart aleck remarks and insults--felt distant and dying alongside the embers of the failed vacation of his youth.

Staring out the car window as May quietly drove them home, Peter had the inescapable feeling that some part of his childhood--some part that survived the Blip, survived knowing _what Tony Stark's dying breaths sounded like_ \--had been left behind in Europe, somewhere between the water of the Venice canals, the discarded remnants of fireworks in the gutters of Prague, and the bodies in London.

-

Comparatively, the rest of June and the start of July was uneventful. All Peter really wanted to do was sleep away the summer heat and hurt feelings, but a healthy dose of guilt had him out and patrolling two days into his break.

And once his patrols started again, he hardly stopped, as if throwing himself into helping people around New York City could somehow make up the debt he owed to the people of London. It didn't help, not really, because he knew just as he needed to be out here as Spider-Man now, he needed to be in London as Spider-Man _then_. With Mysterio.

It happened more days than not, the urge to see Beck again. It was dumb, he knew it was, this feeling that somehow Beck would make things better because what could he do that the other people around Peter couldn't? But he remembered Beck letting him go back to his trip even as the rest of the room guilted him, Beck calling Fury out for _kidnapping him_ , Beck smiling at him on a rooftop and planning how to keep his classmates safe. He only knew him a few days, but he hadn't had someone so committed to protecting both sides of the duality of his life since--

Tony.

Which was a whole other issue--the flash of pain and longing that suckerpunched him whenever the image between Beck and his previous mentor blurred. Sitting in the bar, looking at Beck looking at him wearing those glasses, part of him felt like he was going to puke even as another part sighed in relief. Thinking about Beck was weird in that way, eliciting a storm of contrary emotions in his thoughts. He wanted to see him, but at the same time he was terrified that deserting Beck in Europe was the final dumb act of a child that would leave the other disappointed in him, shaking his head and telling Peter he wasn't who he thought he was. That fear was enough to transform the longing to a desire to never see the older hero again just so he wouldn’t have to know what he thought of him now.

This was the story of his life, wasn't it? Regrets and conflicting feelings, never really sure of what he wanted.

Peter, however, was given the opportunity to shortly discover what he wanted just a few weeks into July.

He was on a short break from patrol, mask hiked up around his nose and busy chowing down on a churro (he had helped the same old lady with directions at least eight times since he started doing this, and she always bought him churros as thanks, and he should probably ask her name so he can call her something other than Churro Lady) as he watched the sun start to set. He was perched--he liked using verbs like that in his inner narration, it made him feel more heroic than just saying he was lounging--on his favorite break building this side of downtown. It wasn't the tallest in the area, but it still cleared the nearby structures so he could see the horizon and keep an eye on the street activity. A different building used to be his preferred spot, but a big Tony Stark mural someone had slapped on the wall opposite it had made him stay clear of it recently.

"Spider-Man!"

The last bit of churro was stuffed into his mouth and the mask pulled back down to its proper place within seconds. Peter flattened his feet against the side of the building, preparing to push off to return to his duties.

He looked down, and his brain switched into full flight-or-fight mode. Or maybe it would be more accurate to just say flight mode. He definitely didn't feel the need to fight, because even at this height he could tell _that was Quentin Beck down there, hands cupped around his eyes and staring right back up at him_. 

Even as the less rational part of his brain was yelling to run away from the man he let down so astronomically because he was _not_ ready to face him yet, he couldn't deny the flare of happiness sparking through his veins at the thought of being able to talk to Beck again.

Plus, he didn't make a habit of running away from superheroes. Unless you counted Nick Fury as a superhero, because then Peter totally did.

He leapt from the rooftop in that effortlessly graceful way he didn’t even have to think about any more, pavement of the back alley beneath rushing up to meet him. He landed lightly, like he had hopped off nothing more than a bench, but made a little show of gathering himself as he straightened up to give himself one last moment to brace himself for this reunion.

He stared at Beck, thankful for the impassiveness of the eyes on his suit. Beck wasn't suited up--or maybe that wasn't quite the right verb, because he actually was donning a well-tailored grey suit, a black shirt underneath. So, suit, but not _suit_ suit. It was mildly surprising, and it abruptly occurred to him that maybe this wasn't Beck--well, obviously it _was_ Beck but maybe he was this Earth's version of Beck and not _his_ Beck and how weird would _that_ be--when thankfully the taller man decided to break through the panic clearly rolling off Peter in waves.

"What, are suits not acceptable attire on this Earth?" Beck's smile broke naturally on his face, eyebrows raised and looking down to appraise himself, and Peter couldn't help the surge of affection in his chest. 

"No, no! Good-- it looks good." All it took was one sentence and he couldn't deny the depths to which he had _missed him_. Which was probably silly, because he had only really known him what, a handful of days? But in the wake of everything--Fury ignoring him, MJ still mad, Tony -

gone--it felt like Beck, somehow, was the only person who he could really talk to and have them _understand_. But that was probably a lot to put on someone, especially someone like Beck who definitely had a whole litany of actual important things to worry about. So, out of all the possible questions Peter was posed to ask, he went with the safest he could think of: "How did you find me?"

"Please, Peter." He tapped the pocket of his jacket, where the EDITH glasses were clipped, "I have Stark's entire information network at my beck and call," Peter mentally laughed at the pun, even if it was probably unintended. "If she couldn't track a guy in a bright red suit, I'd worry." He returned his hand to his pants pocket, carrying himself with a relaxed ease that Peter did not feel _whatsoever_ . "By the way, that deep voice thing you've been practicing? _Endearing_ , but I'd say it needs more work before you give it a trial run on the streets."

Peter sputtered, at a momentary loss for words, "M-Mr. Beck, you've been watching me!?" It was a dawning horror alongside a healthy dose of red hot embarrassment.

Beck's eyes widened and he took a step forward, hands outstretched like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. "Oh my god, no, _no_ , I was just messing with you," the worry in his voice gave way to a sort-of apprehensive humor, "wait so you _actually_ \--? That… really, _actually_ is endearing." He said it like he was really deliberating over the concept, amused but pleased with what he found. Anyone else and Peter might feel like he was being made fun of, but something about the way Beck said it left him instead feeling very warm under his mask instead.

"It's intimidation training," Peter mumbled, unable to resist ducking his head sheepishly.

"I think you're plenty intimidating as is. Have you seen yourself hold a building up?" And that wasn't a joke, Peter realized with a start, it was sincere even if it had a sort of friendly teasing to it. It was like they were back in Prague, in Venice, Beck making him feel capable and _enough_. "Are you good to take a break from patrol? I have something for you."

There wasn't really anything in particular going on and Peter was definitely curious, so he nodded. Beck grinned without shame in that slightly uneven way of his, and Peter, for the first time in his life, was struck with the realization that _this_ was what people meant when they said a person was handsome. Which isn't to say he never thought a guy was good-looking before because, have you seen the heroes he hangs out with? But this was different, Beck was handsome in a way that Peter _felt_ more than he was simply aware of.

Which was, admittedly, a weird thing to realize.

He was once again thankful for his face being covered because he could feel the blush burning high on his cheeks. Beck turned away from him with a move of his head Peter took to mean "hey, follow me because I'm somehow not annoyed by your weird little imprinting thing you have for me," and strode away.

Peter wasn't even two steps behind, jogging a bit to keep up with the other's stride. "So, you're not, um, caped." He felt it was worth mentioning, even as he also felt he could have phrased it a bit more artfully.

Beck slowed as he glanced at him, and Peter wondered if it was because he noticed the difference in their paces. He would believe that, he just seemed considerate that way. "Back home, I didn't wear the whole Mysterio get up when I wasn’t on duty." Before Peter could linger on the implications of _back home_ , he continued, "plus, would you believe people are calling my helmet a fishbowl?"

Peter was scandalized that anyone would think of Mysterio as anything other than incredibly cool even though it did kind of look like a fishbowl now that he thought about it. "I thought you looked really cool!" He blurted out before he could stop himself, hastily adding, "all my classmates thought so, too. Well, except Flash, but he has a weird thing for Spider-Man I’m not really ready to unpack."

There was a touch to his shoulder, the warmth of Beck's palm, for a fleeting second before it was pulled away, like he had thought better of it.

"You mind taking a ride?" They cleared the alley, Beck removing a pair of keys from his pocket and stopping in front of the driver's seat of a shiny black car.

"You have a car?" Peter asked, surprised.

Beck shot him a fondly admonishing look. "They also had cars on my Earth."

"No, I mean--" Peter felt a prickle of hope in his chest, "you bought a car? Are you living here, in New York?"

Like he knew exactly what Peter was thinking, Beck looked apologetic as he answered, "no, it's a rental."

"Oh." Peter channeled his effort into trying not to sound too disappointed, as he circled the car to the passenger side.

"I don't know where I'm going to live," it wasn't much, but the hope was there again. God, why was Peter this way? What, did he think the two of them were going to hang out if he lived close by? Beck continued, once they were both seated inside, thankfully distracting Peter from his self-admonishment. "Not the west coast. I lived there, before…" His voice faded out, and suddenly Beck felt years away, in the seat next to him.

Peter didn't know how to respond to that, never really did other than a murmured 'sorry about your family' in a room full of Fury's agents. He wasn't a stranger to loss, far from it--but just as he didn't know how anyone could make what's happened to him better, he didn't know what to do for Beck. He felt responsible for his grief, for even bringing up his living situation.

The other didn't seem to expect an answer, though, as he turned the key in the ignition. "Buckle up." He didn't look at him as he said it, and Peter had to concentrate on not ripping the seat belt from its holster as he hurried to put it on--he tended to break things when he was too rushed to reel in his strength. Once he was successfully clicked in, Beck pulled out into the post-rush hour traffic.

There was a lot Peter _wanted_ to say or to ask, but found he couldn't form the words when he tried, fingers fidgeting in his lap. Maybe Beck felt the same, because their silence was shared, but that was hard for Peter to imagine. He tried not to make his staring obvious, furtive glances turning to something longer as his eyes mapped the other's features like they were uncharted territory and in a way, they were. His beard was, well, the same as before--not as neat as Tony's is- was--but still trimmed and obviously cared for. He had wondered when he first saw him how much of his figure was muscle and mass because the guy was _wide_ , and even without the benefit of his cape and armor, his shoulders were still broad, snug against the pull of fabric of his jacket. His stare moved to his hands gripping the steering wheel--strong and sure, gold band glinting on his left ring finger.

They came to a stop at a light, and Peter's gaze returned to Beck's face to find the other staring back. "Seriously, is the suit no good?"

"No, that's not it, I'm sorry!" Peter's stare shot down to his own lap, like his hands were suddenly the most interesting thing in the car. "I just, I didn't expect to see you again, maybe forever, let alone not as Mysterio, and it's nice," he licked his lips nervously, "you're nice."

He couldn't bring himself to look at the other right now, but he heard the unease slip from his voice, replaced with something teasing but warm. "Aw, kid. You're nice, too." It was hardly anything, but Peter felt his heart soar at the compliment, a shot of adrenaline not unlike the first time he trusted his web shooters to catch and lift him from the harsh kiss of concrete. That was… an odd thing to feel, here.

Beck was pulling into an underground parking lot dedicated to a collection of upscale stores, and the mystery of what they were up to did nothing but deepen. It was empty for the most part, probably because most of the boutiques were closed at this hour. "Oh, I have clothes in the back. I need your face and I didn't think you'd be interested in outting yourself here."

He poked his head around the seat, and sure enough, there was a dark mass of fabric. He was really too curious at this point to stop and ask what was going on when he didn't think he'd get a straight answer from Beck, so he pulled them on over his suit without comment or much difficulty in the roomy front seat. It was a pair of joggers and an athletic jacket that zipped all the way up to just under his chin.

They were big on him--he had filled out a lot from his time as Spider-Man but he was still swimming in these--and he felt suddenly lightheaded as he was struck with the realization that these must be Beck's clothes.

Speaking of, Beck was watching him almost appraisingly, and Peter felt strangely on display as he pulled his mask from his head. He ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back from where it was plastered to his forehead, trying to make the motion look natural. As put together as he could be on short notice, he finally turned his face towards the other.

"Not too hot?" He didn't know what he expected Beck to say, but it wasn't that.

"Um, no, my suit has moisture-wicking and temperature control abilities so I can wear it under other stuff, if I need to." He tried to be casual, but still couldn't completely stop the pride from leaking into his voice over Tony's work on the Spidey suit, the first gift his mentor had really ever given him. The pride turned sour as the last eight months hit him--that happened, sometimes. It was weird, how every once in a while, he can just forget Tony is gone and think he nk hes in a world where Iron-Man is still around, even if only for a few seconds. He swallowed hard, kept talking through the renewed sense of loss. "I, once I fell in a lake at night. And it like, blow-dried me."

If Beck noticed any shift in his mood, he didn't comment. "Damn, I can't even keep my cape from wrinkling." There it was, the briefest clasp of a hand on his shoulder, strong and imposing, gone before Peter could even think about it as the older man climbed out of the car. Peter followed suit.

Beck didn't leave and expect him to follow, but waited by the headlights, staring at him in a way that made his ears burn. "What?" The word left Peter's mouth more air than sound.

"The outfit's really working for you, kid." Peter couldn't tell if the comment was a joke or something else, just walked alongside Beck to the elevators with his head dipped.

The shopping center was mostly empty, chain link pulled shut over the majority of the shops. Peter noted it was more due to the time than a failure of business, the insides stocked beyond the glass front panels. It was high-end, devoid of any of the normal stores he'd expect in a mall like GAP or Orange Julius, the type of place Peter didn't really frequent because why would he? Which really begged the question: why would Beck bring him here? As much as he tried to unpack that question, he couldn't come up with any answer that made a bit of sense to him.

When Beck led him into a glasses shop, it did nothing to alleviate his confusion. There was a man behind a carved wooden counter, looking decidedly grumpy in front of a wall of glasses. "I was supposed to close up at seven," was all he said, even as he fetched a closed glasses case from beneath the register and set it down in front of him.

"Sorry, sorry, he was harder to track down than I expected." Beck sounded apologetic. Peter started at the warm palm against his back as he was led up to the counter. His gaze didn't leave the case, a knot forming in his esophagus in dawning understanding. "Go on, see how they fit." Beck's voice was quiet and near to his ear, treating him like something delicate.

Peter failed to swallow down the lump building in his throat, but nevertheless reached out and opened the case with a quick flick of his wrist. Tony's sunglasses, settled snugly within, reflected his own broken expression. "I don't," he swallowed again, finally breaking the spell to look up at Beck, "I don't understand?"

"Don't worry, I'm not giving them back." Beck's expression held the same gentleness as the hand on his back. He felt steadied by both, safe somehow. "They're just the frames. You don't have to worry about EDITH." Peter let go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Beck's palm pressing into his back for a second as if he feared Peter was near collapse. "I didn't… understand, before, what he was to you and what it meant for you to still give me the glasses." Peter wondered distantly who had explained it to Beck--how Tony had protected both Spider-Man and Peter Parker above all else, how he spent years trying to live up to every expectation Tony had of him and who he could be, how he had to _watch Tony die_. "I wanted you to at least have them, while I carry the rest for you." The hand finally lifted so Beck could pluck the glasses out of the case, carefully settling them onto the bridge of Peter's nose. His back prickled with cold where his hand had sat. "Besides, I thought about it more and I retract my previous statement. They suit you." He leaned over him, angling his body to view the glasses from all angles. "They look like they fit. Do they feel alright?"

"Y-yeah." Voice mousy, he touched the pads of his fingers to the frame for a moment, testing the fit. His grief for Tony was something he carried near to his heart always, a wound that some days was a dull ache he could live with, and other days was all hot-white searing pain, like he was still kneeling on that battlefield, like eight months hadn't passed. This was different, not even within that spectrum. It hurt, he couldn't even try to deny that, but there was understanding in the pain, a shared grief only really Beck could understand--the guilt of having so much power only to fail to save the people you love. It was as if the older man's elegant fingers were pressing into that wound, watching the crimson spread, even as we wiped the tears from his face. "Yeah, they do. Thanks, Mr. Beck." Despite the guilt, the shame, _the hurt_ , his mouth pulled into a small smile, looking up at the other. Thanks wasn't enough, but it would have to do, because Peter couldn't muster the words to convey the full depth of his gratitude, to have Beck here with him, to have his consideration.

The answering expression on Beck's face--a smile that split his face wonderfully--made Peter's blood thrum in his veins, made his hand twitch to reach out to him as if every molecule in his body yearned to be close to him, made a threat of tears flare behind his eyes. It was confusing, the way being around Beck was making him feel. He had to look away and swallow hard, as the other paid for the glasses in short order.

The walk back to the car was as quiet as their walk to the glasses store. It wasn't until they had almost reached the car that Beck broke the tentative silence. "Are you still Spider-ing or should I take you home?"

For some reason, that did it: the fact of Beck's leaving the drop in the swell of emotions churning in his chest that made them all overflow. He couldn't answer, voice failing him, _mortified_ as he felt the first tear spill. He pressed the heel of his palm to his cheek, as if he could hide it, knuckles knocking into the sunglasses that he was still wearing in the dark of the empty parking garage.

"Peter?" Beck's voice was even, gentle. Peter couldn't bring himself to face him, gaze flickering around the far wall of the garage. He felt ridiculous, like a dumb kid, but he couldn't stop the roll of tears down his cheeks or the trembling of his shoulders. "Did I mess up?"

"No!" He practically yelled it, the volume of his voice surprising himself. "No, god, it's so nice, it's too nice-- I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm…" He pulled the glasses from his nose, not wanting to dirty them, and held them with one hand as he scrubbed roughly at his eyes with the other. "It's just, it's just so much. Everything is so much. I'm always messing up _everything_. I can't save the people I should, MJ isn't talking to me, I abandoned," his breath hitched, "abandoned you in London, and all those people." He was becoming incoherent, he could hear it even as he could do nothing to stop it. "I don't, I don't deserve--"

Beck carefully pulled the glasses free from his grip, placing them safely on top of the car. "Peter, Peter, Peter…" Beck was repeating his name like a prayer, wrapping one arm around the back of trembling shoulders to pull him loosely into the safety of his body. "I've got you."

It wasn't a promise that everything would be okay--how could it be, at this point?--but the hope it lit within the glass of Peter's heart burned bright and painful nonetheless. He couldn't stop the desperate wail that tore its way from his throat, hands clutching tight to the fabric of an expensive suit jacket. With his face pressed to the other's lapel, world beyond the half-embrace falling away to nothing, it almost felt like it could be _Tony_ making that promise. But the tone wasn't uncomfortable with affection enough, the shoulders too broad, the heartbeat a dull thud compared to the near-silent whirring of the arc reactor. He sputtered on a choked inhale.

"Hey, hey," it was nothing more than a ghost of a whisper, spoken against his temple. The hand cupping his shoulder had shifted, thumb stroking over the short hairs on the back of his neck. Being physically comforted was… not something Peter really got, outside his Aunt, when he felt just vulnerable enough to let her hold him. It was surprisingly soothing, even in this situation with someone who was little more than a stranger, and he felt the broken shivers of his body evening out. "I'm here, I've got you." He repeated that statement in a private murmur, like Peter would crumble without it, like he needed to remind both of them of that fact.

When Peter finally felt able to pull away--not all the way, not away from where Beck's hand retreated to the curve of where his neck and shoulder met--he wasn't sure how much time had passed. It was definitely enough time to make a fool of himself, tears and snot soaked into the fabric of Beck's jacket. "I-I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." It was spoken with conviction, like he needed Peter to understand. "I should have contacted you after London." His expression grew soft and fond in a way Peter couldn't dwell on without feeling nervous. "You're too good of a kid. I thought you'd be goofing off with your friends for the summer. I didn't want to drag you back into my world."

"It's fine. You have like, actual important stuff to do." And it was fine. Peter was trying to convince himself as much as the other, trying to somehow make up for the embarrassing display of weakness, even as moisture still clung to his lashes and tremors still shook his hands.

Beck was still, mouth pressing together like he was weighing what he was about to say, trying to decide better against it. "I want to protect this Earth, but it's not _my_ Earth. The people I cared about before are dead. Even if it feels sometimes like I could just _go home_ and they'd be waiting for me, it's all just... an echo of the people and things I used to love." He moved his hand from his shoulder, adjusting the collar of Peter's shirt where it slumped to one side. The action was stilted, and a sense of wonder washed over Peter as he realized it for what it was: nerves. Beck was scared. "You're the realest thing I have. I'm sorry, it's pathetic." A grim chuckle danced on his lips, loneliness settling into the fine lines of his face.

Peter caught his wrist, still poised by his collar, and held it for a moment, needing to assure himself this was real and not just a dream where he was as important to Beck as Beck was to him. "But I _failed_ you," it was barely a croak, "I should've been there."

"Peter, you _were_ there." His voice was suddenly strong, empathetic. Like he couldn't stand the weight of his own emptiness, but would shoulder Peter's without a second thought. "EDITH helped me save a lot of people I wouldn't have gotten to otherwise." He touched the fingertips of his free hand to his lapel pocket. "Hell, I might not be here if it wasn't for them. You saved me, kid."

"Oh." That was… God, why hadn't he thought of that? He had stayed away from reporting on the incident, averted his attention from the attack on London. EDITH's rescue capabilities hadn't exactly been on the forefront of his thoughts when he had been busy hating himself. It didn't fix everything, of course, but he did feel a small weight lift from his burden nonetheless. One of his decisions _had_ been the right one. If he hadn't already broken down once in the last hour, he might've cried out of sheer relief. Instead, he was quiet for a few moments and then with a note of reluctance, he let go of Beck, let him retrieve his arm. "Thank you. For, um, letting me…" Have a complete break down? It was too embarrassing to lend words to what had just happened, Peter fumbling as heat rose in his face.

"Of course." Beck said it like he had said everything to Peter since they first met around a glowing orange globe, like there was nothing he could need that Beck couldn't give. Peter shivered.

Beck fetched the non-EDITH glasses back from their safe perch on the car, handing them over to their rightful owner. "Now, let's get you home. I think Spider-Man should get some rest tonight."

The car ride back to Aunt May's was nice. Really nice. Beck asked him what he's been up to since he got back, Peter told him about his various capers, a new model he hadn't spent nearly enough time on with Ned, the Churro Lady whose name he still needed to get. When they finally arrived at the apartment, Peter almost surprised himself as much as he seemed to surprise Beck when he invited him to eat dinner with him and his aunt.

Beck left his suit jacket in the rear seat of his car, and Peter was thankful for that even as he was ashamed of the mess he had made of it. God, he was trying to be cool in front of Beck and here he was using his clothes as a tissue. The thought made him want to sink into the Earth as they did quite the opposite and instead climbed the steps to the apartment.

"Uh, this is Mysterio-- Quentin Beck, the guy who saved my life and also… the whole world? Can he stay for dinner?"

Aunt May had taken one look at Beck, one look at the food on the stove, and announced a foray to the nearby Thai restaurant was instead in order.

And it was nice, it was all still really nice. There was a moment where Beck set his menu down and enthusiastically ask, "so, what's up with tofu? What is that?" He almost had Peter believing the Earth-833 just had somehow developed without tofu ever being a thing, until he shot him a covert wink while May tried to explain it. Peter smiled to himself privately as Beck nodded along as if enraptured with May's understanding of the history of tofu.

Peter hoped Beck at least liked tofu, since May proceeded to order three plates with it and insisted on him trying them all.

Beck had drove them back home, and May had gone on ahead upstairs to not disturb their 'superhero meeting'.

"She's great," Beck smiled up at him from where he was still seated in the driver's seat. "I can see where you get it from."

Peter flourished under the compliment. It was hard to be aware of it, from the inside, but he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, telegrammed his emotions like a 24/7 TV channel starring his inner thoughts. It was useful to Beck, at least, dealing with a kid that was so easy to read. Similarly, when Peter realized what he was still wearing, a sudden bout of worry flashed across his features. "Oh, your clothes, I-I can go change and bring them back-!"

"I'll get them next time." Beck responded, and Peter felt a stab of excitement at the implicit promise there--that they'd be seeing each other again, that Peter hadn't completely run him off with that embarrassing outburst of emotion. "Take care of yourself, kid." They caught each other's gaze for one more long breath before Beck twisted away to check his blind spot and pulled out onto the street.

Peter stayed there until the other's car was out of sight, and then for half a minute more for good measure.

It was a few hours later, just as he was getting ready for bed, when his phone lit up. The back of his neck, where Beck had held him cradled to his chest, tingled with anticipation. His hope was confirmed when he unlocked it to find a text from a mystery number.

_Your world's phone plans are terrible. Why don't you have 6G yet?_

By the time he read the first, another had come in.

_Seriously you have a pair of glasses that can control an army of drones. But I can't load a single gif once I leave the city?_

It pulled a small chuckle from him, hands clutching the device as he mulled over what to say back.

_This is Beck, btw._

He paused to ensure that Beck was done with his serial texting, before finally typing out a reply.

_I know lol. :) what service are you using? T-mobile sucks around here. Thank you for today, also. It was really nice to see you again. I'm sorry about being weird and about your suit. I can pay for cleaning! Please let me know if that's something I can do._

He reread it, and removed the 'lol'd before clicking send.

_I'll take good care of the glasses. Really, thank you again. It means a lot. I'm going to bed so I'll ttyl. Good night!_

He placed his phone face down on the nightstand, trying to will himself to not check for a return message. All he _really_ wanted to do was talk to Beck more. He had to pause at that thought, pondering if that was a weird thing to want when Beck was like, twice his age.

No, it was probably fine. After all, Beck was a superhero so it was natural he would want to talk to him, they had that in common. Besides, the guy was literally just super cool, and saved the whole world, and other kids in his class had crushes on teachers all the time--

His thought process came skidding to a halt at that reasoning because _where did that come from_? This wasn't like that at all, that wasn't really a comparison!

Because he liked MJ! He had the whole plan! Which he had himself practically shot in the foot and left to die, but there still had been a plan! Even now, thinking about her made him get those giddy, butterfly-esque flutters deep in his chest. But there was more to it than just butterflies, a tinge of regret and shame and rejection permeating even through the brightest of memories. It was, undoubtedly, complicated now that he knew she suspected him, that he had lied through his teeth and swore he was _just_ Peter, that he had found all of her lingering looks had been nothing to celebrate as indication of her returning his feelings. He collapsed back onto his bed with an unhappy huff, staring up at the dark of his ceiling.

So maybe his crush on MJ had complications now, but that didn't really _mean_ it wasn't still a crush. It certainly didn't mean he liked Beck in _that way_.

He thought about the moment of camaraderie just for him and Beck on a rooftop in a strange city, Mysterio shielding him with green light in the very nick of time, the way the older man's body had relaxed and loosened into an easygoing sprawl after a couple of beers. He thought of the way Beck looked at him like he, Peter Parker who wasn't worth anything when he wasn't in a costume, was something to behold. He thought of the way Beck had cupped the back of his neck while he cried, the way his thumb had rubbed just under his hairline at the base of his skull.

Peter shivered, suddenly feeling very, very warm, and oh, _oh._

"Oh."

The simpleness of the single syllable was betrayed by the sheer depth of the revelation behind it. Yes, he had a crush on MJ still, but he also most certainly liked Beck in _exactly_ the same way.

Ears burning, he had the distinct impression that he was in trouble.

\-----

In another possible reality, Beck didn't get away with it.

But here, in this reality, he was sitting pretty on the bed of a hotel, EDITH safely tucked in his pocket. He grinned at the screen of his phone, mouth twisted with a certain wicked glee Peter would find foreign on his face.

It had all gone according to plan, as things often did for him. Peter had no suspicion, poor thing, and obviously had no regrets about giving away the glasses. All as it should be, except for the snot on his jacket. But he could live with that, a bout of dry cleaning was worth seeing Peter teary-eyed and ruined, shaking under his touch.

He wanted to be nice, really, he did. He had let Peter live, hadn't he? He had even let him finish his school trip! Hell, he even toasted to the sorry kid during his time of victory. Not harming Peter Parker had always been the plan, but his conviction to that aspect only grew stronger once he met the boy.

Peter was pathetically _open_ , so obviously burned time and time again to the point Beck would think he'd get the point he was better off alone, yet against better judgment he still desperately out for someone he could connect with, someone that could understand him.

Beck just happened to get in the way of that.

How could he not, with the way those sweet eyes followed him--shy like he was afraid to get caught but unable to look away--practically begging him to please, _please_ fill the cavity of his chest that his parents, his uncle, _Tony Stark_ had left barren, heart carved out until nothing remained. Pulp from a jack-o-lantern, left to rot.

Peter was the type of kid that made most people want to be better than they were.

Thank god Beck wasn't most people.

But still, he really did want to be nice. There was just something captivating about the way Peter cried--the shine of tears welling up in those big doe eyes, the way he bit his lip red to try and quiet himself, the tremors that shortly overtook his incredibly solid but still slight frame. He didn't want him to cry, no, but he could _watch_ him cry all day.

It was thoughts like this that made him wonder if there wasn't something to the claim he was mentally unstable, but to admit it would be to admit Tony right and that just wasn't going to happen.

The plan had been to swing by, check if Peter gave any inclination he knew Beck was a big old liar, do the whole glasses stunt, see if Peter was going to ask for the glasses back.

Really, everything that came after that wasn't exactly… part of any scheme. He could reason it'd be better to have Peter as an ally, it would make it easier to keep him in the dark, and that's what he'd tell his team if they dared to ask. But really, it was just as much as a risk as a potential benefit, being close to Peter.

The truth was, after a few weeks of celebrating and shaking hands with various heads of state, when he should focus on little else than his victory, he couldn't stop his thoughts from straying to Peter.

There was something to it, being looked at with the level of adoration and blind trust the younger superhero was somehow capable of exuding. It made him want to press his fingers under the other's flesh, unearth the secrets he wouldn't dare to even whisper in the dead of night and rip them into the cold light of day, see how _far_ he could push and how _much_ he could take before Peter wouldn't recognize himself anymore.

But he wouldn't do any of that, because he wanted to be nice.

He understood now, why Stark had taken on this kid from Queens as his little pet project, had given him the power to fell and raise empires. Peter was stupidly endearing. And yet despite Tony’s _thing_ for the kid, he had still died and left him all alone, and all the EDITH glasses in the world couldn't protect that poor, sweet, naive boy from people like him.

He could have detached after this little test of a visit, probably should have when he weighed it carefully in his mind.

Instead, he was texting Peter Parker.

_Night, Peter._


End file.
